Healing Heart
by Kristin Elizabeth
Summary: When war leaves Sookie a single parent, will she find a way to heal from her loss, and open her heart to a new man? Entry for: A New Chapter Contest. Rated M for language and graphic adult situations. You've been warned.  AH Sookie/Eric
1. Chapter 1

**Entry for A New Chapter Contest**

Title: **Healing Heart**

Characters: **Sookie/Eric**

Word count:**11,716**

Pen name: **Kristin Elizabeth**

Beta: **fardareismai2**

Status: **New AH**

Discalimer: **Major characters in this story belong to Charlaine Harris. I own nothing.**

**To see all the other entries please visit the C2:** **http:/ www(dot) fanfiction(dot) net/ community/ A_New_Chapter_Contest/84745/**

**A HUGE thanks to my beta, my Cali Sis, the great and talented fardareismai2. If ever there was a writer who mastered human Sookie and Eric, it was her. If there are ANY mistakes left here, they are all mine!  
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**Prologue**

They were different in almost every way. Eric's fair coloring and casual elegance were a complete counterpoint to Alcide's swarthy ruggedness. While Eric was open and friendly, Alcide was reticent and quiet, only showing his sweet side if he liked you.

And he loved me.

That is one thing that they both had in common.

So while I will always grieve for Alcide, I'll never regret what came out of the loss of him.

**Palo Alto California, June 2006 **

Today marks the culmination of four years of hard work. Four years of living by someone else's set of rules. Four years of stress that I might not be setting the bar high enough for myself, and that I'm going to end up working at McDonalds if I fail. All of these things are typical of a 17-year-old over-achiever. Or so I always tell myself.

We Stackhouses have always been overachievers who think failure of any sort is the end of the world. My parents are both lawyers, and my older brother, Jason, who'll be graduating a week after me with a Harvard Law degree in hand, is about to follow in their footsteps.

Me? I'll be a high school graduate in about three hours, and I have no _fucking_ clue what I'm going to do after today. Sure, my straight A's will get me into just about any school of my choosing, including the family alma mater, but I just want to stay here.

It's where I fell in love with _him_. It's where I know he'll return when he's done doing whatever it is he says he needs to do.

And if he doesn't come back to me?

Well, it seems like a pretty good place to crawl into a hole and cry myself to sleep until I die.

I've known this separation was coming since the day the Marine Corps recruiters scouted our high school campus for people just like him. But the time I've had to process the inevitable changes have done little to help the current pinprick in my heart, which will be the size of a fist when he says goodbye.

This isn't the end for us, but I want to give him something to remember me by, just in case. It might scream "teenage angst" but, I want him to take my innocence, because I don't want to share this with anyone else. He's it for me, I know it. When his tour is over, and he's back home, he says we'll get married and start a family. I believe him.

Alcide is my world.

**Present day Palo Alto**

"Patrick, put your toys away and get washed for supper please, Gran will be here in fifteen-minutes."

He grumbles at me like I can't hear him from five feet away. I don't need the extra stress from my 4-year-old right now. My mother is coming over.

Her weekly "check up on Sookie" night is every Sunday. She tries to be sly about it, using the guise of "family-time," but I know better. I screwed my chances for a normal life at such an early age that she wants to make sure I don't have the opportunity to damage it further.

It's either that or she's lonely. I suspect that's a part of it too. When my father was killed in a car accident two-years ago, my mother and I had a falling out after the funeral. It didn't last long, but the three months we didn't talk to each other fueled the flames on an already volatile relationship. Yeah, that part was my fault. But the product of my "mistake," as she calls it, is too amazing for regrets.

Patrick is _anything_ but a mistake.

Of course, my parents were always old fashioned, not to mention they had big dreams for their daughter that didn't include her getting knocked up by an 18-year-old kid about to be deployed to Iraq. Well, not only did my own plans not include Patrick, they didn't include Patrick's father being killed by a roadside bomb when I was eight months pregnant. Just like my mother's plans didn't include dad's car accident.

Their plans also didn't take into account my brother Jason announcing he wasn't interested in law anymore, but rather, medicine, and that he was enrolling in Stanford Medical School, just six months after graduating from Harvard Law. Oh, he also announced he had a boyfriend. I was damn proud of him. Our parents? Not so much. The funny thing was, they were more upset about the sudden change in career plans than they were with the fact that he was gay, and that the Stackhouse name might die with him.

Nope. Plans do _not_ come with guarantees.

Alcide had been a Marine for six months when he was killed. He'd known he was going to be a father for four of those months, and he was thrilled. We both were. We'd decided on our son's name as soon as I found out he was a boy. Patrick was Alcide's middle name, and it seemed appropriate.

When I stopped getting Alcide's e-mails, I knew something was wrong. Nearly a month went by before I got the official word that he'd been killed. When I accepted the fact that I would never see Alcide again, I saw our unborn baby for the miracle that he was, and the link I would always have to the boy I had loved, and the man I barely had time to get to know.

We'd had plans too, Alcide and I. But life isn't set in stone. If I didn't know that before I graduated from high school, I learned it very shortly after.

And I just keep learning it.

It doesn't seem fair that that the war is finally over and he's not here with me. Never will be. He's never going to help me raise our son. He's never going to show Patrick how to make an "x" in the toilet so he'll learn to have better aim. I had no idea how hard potty training a child would be. And that's just one of the hurdles I didn't even think about having to deal with until it fell into my lap.

Jason has been great, though. He stepped up as a father figure in as many ways as he could. When he found out I was pregnant, he didn't judge me. He just gave me a hug and said he'd be there for me ,and he has been.

My mother has been there for me too, I suppose, trying, in her own way. She means well I think, but my unexpected child wasn't easy for her to accept at first. We spent the majority of the time after I broke the news to my parents, not speaking. But they let me stay, and still offered to pay for college if I wanted to go. I tried to go, I really did. I couldn't attend any of the out of town schools I was accepted to, because I figured out real fast that raising Patrick with help from my parents was hard enough. Raising him in another state and by myself? Wasn't possible.

So I stayed, attended the local junior college, even though I was accepted into Stanford and could have gone there and still lived at home. But even junior college proved to be too much. I ended up getting a job as a server at one of Stanford's campus restaurants, and work there still. Not exactly McDonalds, but not where I want to be either; serving my peers while they feed themselves the education my own brain craves.

The doorbell rings, and I see that Patrick hasn't finish cleaning up his toys like I asked him to.

"Just a sec!" I yell. Patrick is in his bedroom and I can hear his Playskool record player blaring a Sponge Bob song. I know I have about thirty seconds to grab the three toys I see on the living room floor, and another fifteen seconds to tell Patrick to turn off the music and wash his hands.

The bell rings again. I'm already frustrated and she hasn't even walked over the threshold yet. It's not her fault. This has been one of those days. Come to think of it, every Sunday is "one of those days".

Okay, maybe it _is_ her fault.

The doorbell blares again. "Coming! Hang on." I leave the toys, and go for Patrick instead.

"Patri—" I find him in the bathroom, standing on his little orange stepstool, leaning into the tap water like he's about to fall into the sink. I smile because he did something I asked him to do. He washed his hands. A small battle has been won tonight.

Now for the big one.

My mother has brought someone over for dinner. He's standing out there now. On my porch. All I know about him is that he's an up and coming lawyer at her firm. At 29, he's seven years older than me, and he's a single father of a 4-year-old girl named Abigail.

Mother is playing matchmaker. I know it's her way of telling me she wants me to be happy, that it's time for me to find someone to settle down with, someone to help me raise my son. But what she doesn't seem to realize is that a piece of me was lost when Alcide died. She doesn't understand that a 17-year-old could have had so many feelings for someone. _I_ know a 17-year-old can have plenty of feelings. I'm pretty sure I'll never have any stronger than what I felt for Alcide. But my mom doesn't really know that part of me. Probably never will.

And now I have to serve dinner to her and this stranger.

I help Patrick dry his hands, and he holds my hand as we walk to the door together. He looks as worried as I do. I've explained to him that Gran is bringing a friend who has a little girl his age. He's not bringing his daughter tonight, because she's with her mother for the week. But I was more inclined to accept this dinner arrangement once I found out we had 4-year-olds in common. Patrick can read me like a book—almost better than I can read him. He knows I'm nervous about the man, and clings to my hand tighter, and I know it's to reassure me, not him.

"Mother." She walks in and hugs me. It's a show for the man, she never hugs me. I haven't looked at him yet. I'm waiting…

"Sookie, I'd like you to meet Eric." I look up at my mother's words to see a very tall, very blond, _very_ attractive man with a bouquet of calla lilies. He's dressed nice, no tie, but a collared shirt, khakis and…Converse? I'm guessing he doesn't wear those at the law firm, but I appreciate his laid back sensibilities tonight. I'm dressed much the same. I forewent a dress and opted for dark blue jeans, a blouse and boots.

"Sookie," he says, and I swear I want to jump him right where he stands. I haven't had sex in more than two years. I've tried dating a few men, but Patrick scares most men my age. Not Patrick, per se, but the idea of him. Eric is older. That's got to count for something.

"Hi, Eric. Please come in." He walks in after my mother, and I close the door behind them.

My heart is beating fast. I never expected I'd have this much of a reaction to any man my mother would select for me. I'd planned to fight it on principle alone. Now I'm not so sure…

"Eric, this is Patrick," I say. "My mother says your daughter is also four?"

"Yes, Abby just turned four last month." He kneels down to eye level with Patrick and reaches his hand out to shake it. Patrick shakes his hand, but not before pausing and looking at me. For permission? Reassurance? I'm not sure. This is new to us both. I've never allowed a man into my home to meet my son, but somehow I couldn't say no to my mother when she arranged this dinner.

"Sookie, these are for you." He rises from his crouch and hands me the flowers.

"Thank you, they're beautiful." Calla lilies are my favorite, but I don't tell him that. I suspect he already knows.

We're sitting down to dinner several minutes later when my mother starts talking him up. She doesn't need to do this of course, but there's not much I can do once she's in brag mode.

"Eric is one of the youngest new attorneys at our firm, but he's already got a resume that rivals many of his colleagues." She's using her pretentious voice. She goes on to tell me about how he transferred to the firm in Palo Alto from San Francisco last year and won one of the their biggest cases his first time at bat. I wonder when she's going to let _him_ talk.

"That's really something, Eric," I say, looking directly at him from across the table. Our eyes lock, and I'm not sure if he's embarrassed by the way she's talking him up, or if he's waiting for me to praise him some more.

"It's really not that big of a deal," he says, looking a bit embarrassed. But I know that it's a huge deal and he's confirmed what I already thought, he doesn't gloat. I like that.

An hour or so passes and my mother gets up to put Patrick to bed. I've had two glasses of wine, and am feeling more comfortable with Eric than I'd planned. Now that we're alone for a minute, I find it hard to look at him without feeling flushed. I want to blame the wine, but I'm not sure that's it.

"So, Eric, tell me more about Abigail. She's with her mother this week?"

He takes a sip of his water. "Yeah, she's in San Francisco until Friday. We share custody, but I usually have her on the weekends. I'll be picking her up in the city Friday night."

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and removes a photo, hands it to me. Abigail has his eyes, so blue, with an eerily familiar depth to them. Their similarities, however, stop there. Abigail's long, dark, wavy locks must come from her mother.

"She's beautiful, Eric." She really is. Maybe one of the most beautiful little girls I've ever seen. So much like a porcelain doll. So much like a child who has already experienced heartache. I know the look well.

"Yeah, she really is. She looks a bit too much like her mother," he says, and I don't respond to his comment. I'm sure he has his reasons to sound so bitter.

"Do you miss San Francisco?"

"I miss _her_." I think for a second that the "_her_" he's referring to is his ex-wife, and my heart actually sinks a little. He notices.

"Abby, I mean." He frowns, and I think a face like his should never look that sad. "I miss her every day she's not with me, but there's not much I can do about that."

My mother comes back just then from putting Patrick down, and grabs an empty wine glass and bottle from the table to signal that she's getting more. Of course, I know she's giving us some time alone.

I look back to Eric. "So why did you move here? I mean, I couldn't imagine leaving Patrick."

He gives me another solemn look, and I realize how insensitive my remark was. "I mean… I didn't mean to imply that you—"

He smiles. "No, no you didn't. It's a logical question, really. And sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong decision by leaving. But I couldn't stay. Staying was too damn hard."

If he wants to elaborate, I'll let him, but I'm not going to pry.

"My ex, Julia…" He takes another sip of water, and after just an hour I've already learned it's something he does when he's nervous. "We worked at the same firm in San Francisco. She'd been having an affair for more than a year before I found them in bed together. My bed. _Our_ bed. The real kicker though, was _who_ she'd been cheating with. I only communicate with her when it involves Abby now, but I haven't talked to my brother since."

"Your _brother_?"

He gives me a forced smile, and I can tell this isn't easy for him to talk about.

"They're married now and have a six-month old son, Charlie. They live in the house that I bought."

"Wow. How is that even possible? I mean, how can they be so cruel? And your own brother?"

"Half-brother. We share a mother." He pauses. "Funny how the "half" never made a difference to me until he lied to me. It's trite—a wife stepping out on you is one thing, but with my brother? I expected his loyalty."

."

"I can't imagine."

"I couldn't work there anymore, and pretend that seeing them together everyday wasn't killing me. When the job opened here, I knew I had to make a change—for me, for Abby. I was a mess, and everyone knew it. It wasn't healthy for Abby to see me like that. I knew seeing her less would hurt, but in the long run, it's probably been the best thing for both of us."

"Makes sense. It must have been terrible though."

"It was. But…" He looks at me, and I swear he sees deeper inside of me than anyone else ever has. I'm not sure why I feel that so profoundly, and it scares the living shit out of me. "You know all about heartache, don't you?"

Tears dot my eyelids before I have the chance to stop them, but I don't try to hide them either. Before I can say anything, he reaches across the table and doesn't stop until his hand is under my chin, and his thumb is wiping a tear that I can feel falling down my cheek.

I close my eyes and turn my head away in an attempt to shield myself, but he's already broken me open, already seems to know the core of what makes me hurt the worst. I didn't tell him about Alcide, but I knew my mother had, and I was actually grateful at that moment that I didn't have to elaborate. I didn't have to expose myself further by recounting the tragedy that was the short life of the eighteen-year-old father of my son.

"It's okay to cry, you know," he says. "I did. And what happened to me wasn't nearly as painful, I'm sure. But I cried. For a lot of reasons."

My nose is running, and I sniff. God, I'm a mess within a minute's time thinking of Alcide. It's then I wonder if I'll ever get over it, over him. Even with this beautiful blonde man with his hand on my cheek, thinking of Alcide hurts so deeply.

I need more time.

"Well, Eric, this has been a really nice evening." I'm not looking at him again. If I do, I'm afraid of what he'll see that he hasn't already.

"I take it that's my cue to exit?" He laughs softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm a mess. It's my problem, not yours. You seem like a great guy. I'm just…" I look down closing my eyes and take a deep breath before doing the life long ritual that usually helps calm me down in times like these. I shake my hands on either side of me, while I let out the breath I took. It doesn't help. Between the crying, sniffling, and shaking, I'm sure Eric will be happy to end the…what would you call it? A date? A therapy session?

Before I can look at him and see the judgment I'm convinced will be there, he's squatting beside me. I open my eyes, a little startled when he takes my hand and brings it to his mouth.

"I think you're amazing, Sookie. And I want to get to know you. But, not if you're not ready. Just say the words, and I'll leave you alone."

I want to be ready, I really do. But my heart aches, and my brain doesn't know how to tell it to stop its grieving, to get on with its life. It beats, but it hasn't been the same in years.

Biting my bottom lip I say, "I'm sorry."

I'm making a huge mistake. I can feel it. But I don't know how to stop myself.

"Don't be. When the time is right, you'll know. And I'm not going anywhere."

He gets up to grab his jacket from the back of the couch, looks at me and smiles. And then he's gone.

**oOOo**

I'm taking Patrick to daycare the next morning when my mother calls me.

"Hi," I say, expecting her criticism for the way I ended the night with Eric.

"I think you two should give it another chance." She's always right to the point.

"And hello to you too."

"I don't know what happened between the you and Eric, but I don't think he would have left so abruptly, without even a word of good bye to me, if you hadn't done something to upset him."

Few words were said last night after Eric left, and I knew she was upset with the way things ended. When she followed me into my room to ask what I said to run him off, I simply told her I was going to bed, and to let it go. She let it go…for a whole ten hours.

"Mother, he didn't leave because he was upset, he left because the dinner was over. That's what happens when a dinner, or whatever you want to call last night, is over. There's nothing to talk about."

I hear her sigh. "Sookie, I just worry about you. It's not healthy to be the way you are. It's not good for Patrick either."

Now I'm the one sighing. "And what is it that I'm doing?"

"You close yourself off from everyone who takes an interest in you. You think I don't pay attention or care most of the time, but you're wrong."

I know she's right, but I don't know what to say. If I tell her she's wrong, she won't buy it. If I tell her she's right, she'll try to fix it, fix _me_. She doesn't seem to realize that I have a daily reminder of Alcide, that I'm raising his Mini-Me, and that he looks so much like his father, I sometimes have to close my eyes when we're alone and I'm watching him play, just so I don't start crying.

"Mom, I have to go. Can we talk about this another time? I've just arrived at day care, and I'm going to be late for work."

"Fine. But think about what I'm saying, Sookie. Give your heart a chance to be happy. If not with Eric, then someone else. Do it for Patrick if not for yourself. It's not healthy for a boy to grow up without a father-figure."

"Sure. I'll keep that in mind."

I hang up before she can say anything else, and when I set the phone on the passenger seat and look in my rearview mirror, I see the only thing that matters, staring back at me. I hate admitting it, and I wouldn't say it out loud, but she's right. It's not fair to Patrick. Yet, neither would parading men around in front of him while trying to find Mr. Right—especially when my heart says Mr. Right has been dead and buried for the last four years.

"What's wrong mama?" Patrick has _that_ look on his face: a mixture of concern and innocence, and I just want to tell him how sad I am, that I miss his daddy and I'm sorry he never got to meet him, that I wish it wasn't so hard for me to move on.

But I just smile and say, "Nothing baby. Mama just gets a little sad sometimes."

"You mean like Gran gets sad about Papa?" He's four, and he picks up on human emotions like an old soul.

My voice catches in my throat. "Yeah baby, just like that."

"It's okay to cry, mama." I look in the rearview mirror again, a little taken aback by his words. Eric had said the same thing to me last night.

"Yeah, I know that baby. I know."

**oOOo**

It's more than three months later when I get a call to pick Patrick up from daycare. I'm working my seventh day in a row and dead on my feet. My co-worker Pamela comes to get me while I'm cleaning out the dessert cooler. I've got a bottle of 409 in one hand and a dishrag in the other, and I think the fumes are getting to me.

"Sookie, Patrick's daycare is on line two."

My heart skips a beat, and I'm terrified in an instant. They only call when something's wrong. I throw the bottle and rag down, get up, and practically trip running to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sookie, it's Meg." Meg runs the day care. She's a nice woman, has four boys of her own, so I know she wouldn't be calling me unless there was a real problem. With four of her own, she doesn't overreact too much.

"Is Patrick okay?"

"He's going to be fine, Sookie, but there was a small accident."

"Oh God, Oh God. Where is he? What happened!"

"Well, according to son number two, Billy, he and Patrick were taking turns pushing each other on the Big Wheels. Well, when it was Patrick's turn to push, I guess Billy went one way, and Patrick went the other and well, Patrick ended up face down on the back of Billy's Big Wheel. He busted his lower lip. It's probably going to be fine, but the gash on his forehead is going to need some stitches."

I think I was out the door before she stopped talking.

I run into the ER thirty minutes later and go straight up to the triage nurse behind the counter; shocked I didn't get a ticket for driving like a bat out of hell on the way here. I'm juggling my bleeding son in one arm, and filling out paperwork with the other, when I hear someone say my name.

"Sookie?"

I know the man that goes with that voice though, don't I? I could never forget it.

I turn around. "Eric."

"What happened to Patrick?" he asks, but when Patrick looks up at Eric, he can see perfectly well what's happened.

"Ouch! That's quite a scratch you got there, _ooohwee_, and look at that lip! I hope you got a lick in with whoever gave you that."

Patrick giggles. He's bleeding from his forehead, and I'm afraid he might have a concussion, but Eric makes him giggle for Christ sake! It eases my mind immensely to hear that sound come out of my bleeding little boy.

"He got in a Big Wheel accident."

"Well, you're tough buddy, I bet you'll be good as new as soon as you see the doctor, and be back on your Big Wheel in no time."

"That's what mama said," Patrick says, smiling up at Eric.

He's right; I said those exact same words in the car about fifteen minutes ago. Freaky. If I weren't so concerned for my son at the moment, I'd analyze that further. I also don't think I'm able to pry my eyes from Eric right now. He's wearing jeans with holes in them, flip-flops, and a faded Queen T-shirt. His hair is a mess, but it looks like the kind of hair some men pay hundreds of dollars to obtain.

He's gorgeous.

"Well, what are you doing here?" I look around the room wondering if Abby is with him. He points to a chair in the waiting room a few feet behind us and I see a length of dark, wavy hair peeking out of a pink blanket.

"She's been sick all week, but when her temperature got to one-hundred and three, I brought her in. Her mom's in Bermuda with you-know-who, and I didn't know what else to do."

"Oh, poor baby." Or babies. I feel just as bad for Eric at that moment as I do for Abby. I can tell he's in knots over his little girl.

"We've been here for almost an hour, but she's been asleep for about half of that. I'm sure she's fine, but I just couldn't take the chance. No telling what her mom would do if something happened to her on my watch."

A nurse comes out of the double doors next to the triage counter.

"Abby Northman?"

"Right here." He points to the pink ball of Abby on the chair.

"Well, I guess that's finally us. You take it easy buddy, and don't worry, chicks dig scars." He winks at me, and I'm pretty sure I'll need a change of panties. Damn but that man has an effect on me.

"Right." I hope my words sound less breathless than they feel. "And I hope Abby's okay."

He smiles and turns back to pick Abby up and carry her toward the double doors.

"Eric…"

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. Take care." He smiles, and then disappears into the ER, as the doors close behind him. Now isn't the time to ask for a second date. But I realize I want one. Desperately.

Four stitches, and two chocolate ice cream cones later, we're back at home. Patrick is going to be fine. The doctor said there was no sign of a concussion, and the scar will probably heal enough that it won't even be noticeable.

With my obvious relief, come thoughts of Eric. Seeing him again—shitty circumstances aside—has done something to me. He said I'd know when I was ready, that he wasn't going anywhere, but that was over three months ago. That's a long time to wait for a girl you barely know—an emotionally distressed girl—to call you.

With Patrick in bed, I'm consumed with thoughts of the tall blonde attorney. Eric is special. It's not that I didn't see that before, but maybe I'm just more ready to see it _now_. Patrick's laugh, thanks to Eric, when we were in the ER. It's playing on a loop in my mind.

I want to call him. But I'm scared.

My fingers hover over my cell phone keypad for several minutes before I gather the courage. My mom put Eric's number on my fridge after he left the night we had dinner,and it was still there. I left it as a reminder, a reminder that I could, as my mom put it, open my heart to someone. The fact I'd left it there this long is not lost on my mother, I'm sure.

It rings four times, and I'm getting nervous that I'm making a mistake. I'm about to press end when he answers. "Eric Northman speaking."

"Uh, hi. Eric?"

"Sookie?" My cheeks flush at the mention of my name, at the fact that he recognizes my voice.

"Yeah, hi. I know it's late, I hope I'm not waking Abby. I didn't even think about that, she probably needs all the sleep she can get…" I'm talking fast now, feeling rude, and stupid for calling him so late when his daughter is so sick. "I'll, um, I'll call some other—"

"No, Sookie, it's fine, I swear. Abby's fever broke a few hours ago; it's back down to normal. She's watching cartoons on the couch and eating ice cream at the moment."

I'm relieved, and I can definitely hear the relief in his voice. I let out a deep breath, "That's wonderful Eric, just great! I could tell how worried you were about her."

"Yeah, she gave me a scare, that's for sure. The doctor said she just had a bug. I guess it's going around. She'll probably be good as new tomorrow, though she's crazy if she thinks I'll let her overdo it."

"I know how that goes." We're both silent for a moment, and I realize that beyond our children, I'm not sure what else we have in common, or what I had planned on saying when I called him.

"I'm really glad you called me, Sookie."

"You…you are?"

He laughs. "Yeah, I really am."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad I called you too."

And just like that, we talk. About everything. About nothing. It's perfect, and it's scary, all at once. I hold on for a few minutes when he puts Abby to bed, and I get to listen to him read her his favorite story from when he was a child, A Fly Went By—one of my own favorites, that Patrick knows well, coincidently.

By the time we hang up, we've racked up three hours of conversation, and have made plans to see each other again on Friday. This time, we're doing it without the interference of my mother—though I'm grateful to her for bringing Eric into my life—and without the children. A real, honest to goodness, date! I haven't been on a date in over two years, and now I'm panicking.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of Alcide a few times while Eric and I talked. I'd be lying if I said I was prepared to date at all, without bringing the memory of Alcide along with me.

But I think I'm finally ready to try.

**oOOo**

When Friday night rolls around, I'm surrounded by a mess of clothes, makeup, and hair supplies. I've already screwed up what was supposed to be a "subtle up-do" according to last month's Cosmopolitan. I'm now convinced they forgot to note that this particular up-do requires a team of experts, and I just feel like screaming.

"Sookie, it's okay, I swear, just calm down. We'll fix it."

My best friend Amelia is a composed voice, in what has so far been one of the most stressful nights in recent memory. Amelia works on campus with me, but she's also a student. She's never judged me, and we became instant friends. She's just about my only friend, in fact.

"It looks God awful, Amelia! He's supposed to be here in," I look at the bedside clock, "Oh my God! Fifteen minutes! How am I supposed to get dressed and fix this mess in fifteen minutes!"

"You look funny mommy." Patrick is sitting on Amelia's lap, giggling at my hair, which closely resembles a cactus.

"Thank you sweetie, but that's not helping mommy."

"Okay, follow me." Amelia scoots Patrick off of her lap and goes into the bathroom, motioning for me to sit on the toilet seat lid. Twelve minutes later, she's flat ironed my hair straight, and managed to fix my makeup failure.

"Well, Patrick, what do you think of mommy now?" Amelia says.

"You look really pretty mommy." He's beaming up at me, and has his tiny feet plugged into the pair of zebra print heels I had placed in front of the bed, I have no clue how he's standing up in them at all, but he's so damn cute I burst out laughing.

"Okay baby, mommy needs her shoes."

The heels complement my black dress; the little black dress Amelia swears will get me laid tonight. Not that that's what I'm striving for. Not really, anyway.

_Okay. I can do this. _As if he's read my mind, the doorbell rings.

"Zip me." I take a deep breath and hold it.

The dress is tight, but in the most ideal way. Amelia zips up the back, I slip into my heels, and turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror.

"Wow, Sookie. He won't know what hit him."

I smile, and I have to agree. I look good. I _feel_ good. "You think?"

"Oh yeah. Go get him!" She says, and Patrick mimes her.

"Go get him mommy!" I scoop him up and haul him into a bear hug. We make bear noises, it's our thing.

"Alright, you're going to be a good boy for Amelia, aren't you?"

"Yup. She says I can watch Wizard of Oz with her. She says I get to eat your cookie dough ice cream stash too."

"Patrick!" Amelia looks at Patrick, arms on her hips. "I though I told you that was _our_ little secret?"

Patrick shrugs, and I give Amelia a feigned dirty look.

"Okay you two, wish me luck."

They both say simultaneously, "Luck!"

I open the door to see Eric, in all his glory. And I'm not sure I've done enough deep breathing to get me through a meal in close proximity to this man. This time he's wearing a suit, I don't know labels, but I know it's expensive. Has to be. His hair is slicked back, but not so much that I won't be able to run my fingers through it. Not that the date will get to that point, _right_?

"Wow," he says, and I'm wondering if he really can read my mind, because I was thinking the same damn thing about him. Only my words won't come out. "Sookie, you look…incredibly beautiful."

I know I'm blushing; I couldn't stop the red if I jumped into a pool of ice water.

"Thanks, Eric. You look great too. Really great." We just sort of stare at each other for a minute, before I say, "Well, I guess we'd better go. Thanks again for watching him Amelia. Amelia?"

I turn to see her staring at Eric like she wants to eat him with a side of barbecue sauce. I wave a hand in front of her face.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, no problem, Sook. Have fun." She's still staring at him, and I'm wondering if I should offer her a drool rag and a bib. I give Patrick a kiss on his cheek, and we leave.

I'm embarking on something millions of people do every day. So why do I feel like I'm about to charter a mission to Mars, with no directions, and no plan B?

**oOOo**

Eric told me that he made reservations overlooking the Bay, so you can imagine my surprise when we park in front of Pizza My Heart, a popular pizza parlor not far from the Stanford campus that Eric said was the best anywhere.

I give him a look from the passenger seat of his Audi Q something or other, that no doubt paints me confused.

"Pizza My Heart?" I say, and he smiles.

"The best pie this side of the Bay Area," he says, before he gets out of the SUV and walks around to open the passenger side door for me.

"I dressed up for Pizza My Heart?" I wasn't mad or anything, not even slightly annoyed, just…curious.

"You said you loved pizza." I did say I loved pizza sometime over the course of our three hour phone conversation, I just didn't expect our first date to be at a pizza parlor.

"Okay, whatever you say." I smile, genuinely smile, and we head inside.

Pizza My Heart on a Friday night is about what you can expect from any college town pizza parlor. Packed wall to wall with students looking for an inexpensive dinner. Their famous special, Eric tells me, is a shirt and a slice for $5. Food _and_ clothing? Doesn't get much better than that.

Before I can wonder how we will find a table amid the crowd, Eric leads me to the back of the small building, up two flights of stairs, and up onto the third story rooftop of the pizza parlor.

"I told you I reserved a table overlooking the water." Just in the distance, I see the lights from the Bay. Not exactly waterfront, but he's right, we _can_ see the water from way up here. I see that someone has already set up a table with two chairs, complete with a red and white-checkered tablecloth and candles, while white lights wrap around pillars on every side of us.

It's so simple, yet so perfect.

"Eric, how did you…"

"I know the owner. Told him I had a very important date, with a beautiful girl who loves pizza. You told me you'd never tried this place, and I knew I needed to remedy that as soon as possible. I'm fairly sure it's a cardinal sin to live in Palo Alto without ever having tried a slice of pesto anything here."

"Well then, I'm glad I have you to steer me away from sin." I have no doubt he doesn't miss the way my words drip with implication. The longer I surround myself with Eric, the more I find myself wanting him.

Any of him.

_All_ of him.

By the time we're done, we've finished a bottle of wine, and a large pesto and pepperoni, and I'm sure I can die happy. Though a full belly on a date might not be ideal for most girls, I'm sure I can die happy.

"That was amazing, Eric, you were _not_ kidding about this place."

"I'm glad you liked it. I knew you would."

"So, any more surprises I should know about? Any more "must-do's" a clueless Palo Alto native should know?"

His face changes almost instantly from playful to predatory. "Just one."

"Enlighten me. _Please_."

"Have you ever danced on a rooftop?"

I shake my head. "Can't say that I have."

He gets up from the table, extending his hand to me as he reaches me at my seat.

"But we don't have any music," I say, just as I see him nod to someone behind me, and music begins to play all around us. It's nothing I've ever heard before, but it's beautiful.

"You really thought of it all, didn't you?"

"Well, I've had a few months to think about how this could go. So yeah, I'd like to think I've given a lot of thought to tonight."

My smile fades, and I'm reminded of the reason why he's had so much time to plan a date with me. I've gone the entire night without thinking of Alcide, until this moment. Why now? When the night has gone so right? I'm not sure what I'm feeling now. Guilt? Sorrow? Complete happiness at being in Eric's arms?

"Hey," he says, as he wraps one arm around my waist tighter, while his other hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. "This is just dancing. Movement of feet. Swaying of hips. No obligations. No regrets. I meant it when I said I was happy you called me. I meant it when I said I wasn't going anywhere."

"Eric, you're so perfect, and I'm so…messed up—" he cuts me off, though I'm not sure what else I could have said anyway.

"No, _you're_ perfect, Sookie. I knew it from the first night we met. The way you are with Patrick. The way we so easily filled three hours of cell phone minutes… Wait, you do have AT&T, right?"

"Verizon. And I'm dreading that bill." We both laugh, and the laughing turns into a fit of hysterics, until I'm crying, and he's on the verge.

Then, he kisses me, and any reservations I have disintegrate instantly.

He's tall, so tall, that even in heels, I go up on my tiptoes to reach him. But I'm there, right there with him. Every taste. Every feeling. Every exploration of his tongue with mine. I'm on the verge of hyperventilating, I need air, but I don't want to breathe if it means I have to take my mouth off of his.

But then he pulls away. "Sookie…"

I want him. I'm feeling reckless, and I want him. He wants me too. I can feel his generous erection pressing against my belly. I can see it in his eyes, and I wonder if he's gone half as long without sex as I have. I feel like I could be ready to move into a new chapter of my life, if it's with Eric.

"I want you, Eric."

He bends down to my mouth again, this time dragging his hand from the base of my nape to the back of my skull, gripping my hair like he's ready to keep me in place if I try to flee. But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless it's somewhere, anywhere with him…to make love to him. Make _love_? I'm not sure why the term pops into my head, but it seems appropriate. I could love Eric.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his breathing as hard as mine.

"Hell yes."

**oOOo**

We're in his Audi, and on the road to his condo within minutes. There's something to be said about a fast car. Getting from point A to point B when it counts is important. Getting to Eric's condo, takes thirteen minutes. I count. It's fast, but I might implode before he gets me in the door.

We make it inside, and we're on each other before the door is shut. He rips his suit jacket off, and I go for the hem of his shirt, ripping it from the inside of his pants. Then I'm releasing his belt, and the buttons on his pants that have no doubt been strangling his cock for at least the last half hour.

"Turn around," he commands, and I'm turned around in under two seconds, no question. He unzips my dress and lets it pool to the floor at my feet, leaving me standing there in my thong and heels. I'm not wearing a bra, and he _knew_ it.

"Fuck, Sookie." He's on his knees behind me, his hands planted on each of my thighs. I feel his lips on one of my bare cheeks, just before his nips me with his teeth.

I gasp. "Oh, God." And I know he's breathing in my scent, if not already watching the moisture drip down my legs.

"Spread your legs for me." Again, a command, and he's killing me with his authoritative, take-control tone. He's a man who not only knows what he wants, but damn well knows what I want too.

"That's it." I feel the thong slide down my legs slowly, his thumbs lightly scraping my legs at the same time. And when it lands on the ground, mingled with the dress my feet are still standing inside of, I'm sure I'll follow them soon, and just melt into the pile of fabric.

"So perfect. So amazingly perfect." He's behind me still, and I want to turn to him and take his mouth again, but he's still on his knees, and the suspense is driving me insane with need.

"Step out, and walk to the couch." The back of the couch is less than five feet away, but I'm not sure I can walk that far. "The couch, Sookie."

When I get to it, he tells me to turn around.

"Now lean against it."

When I do, he's on his knees again, spreading my legs. This time he hitches one of them up on his shoulder, so that I'm more open to him, and begins making a feast out of me. And it's like nothing I've ever felt before. Even Alcide hadn't done this to me more than a few times.

And never like this.

I hate comparing this to anything having to do with Alcide, but in seconds I'm focused on only two things: how fast Eric's mouth can bring me over the edge, and how it's going to feel when he does.

"Oh God, Eric! Yes, please… Don't stop!" Tongue swirling, teeth nibbling, I'm shattering in what is sure to be a record orgasm for any woman. My toys have never felt this good. When he's done, he's standing again, kissing me. I taste myself all over him, and it brings my libido out of its hazy fog and back into the game. I kiss him hard, running my fingers through his hair, messing it up, as I'd secretly pictured when he picked me up for our date tonight.

"The bed," he says. He lifts me up so that I'm straddling him, and he's carrying me to a back bedroom, where he falls onto the bed, with me still straddling his waist.

I have his pants to his ankles and am ready to reveal the hard length I only felt through clothes earlier, when the phone on his nightstand rings.

I pause, expecting him to answer it, but he lets it ring.

"Are you sure you shouldn't get it?" I ask. "What if it's about Abby?"

He lets out a sigh, before he grabs me, flipping me onto my back. "Then they'll leave a message, and I'll hear it."

He's on top of me, kissing me again, while ripping his shirt off as the phone rings two more times before the answering machine kicks on.

"This is Eric, leave a message: Hey, Eric." A woman's voice. "I tried your cell but it must be turned off. Abby's fine, I just…I need to talk. Things aren't really working out with James like I thought they would…"

The voice, I'm guessing belongs to his ex-wife, and Eric stops kissing me.

The voice continues, "He's just…well, he's not you. I don't know, I know you're the last person I should be talking to about this but… I was wondering if we could maybe get together this weekend, you know, at that place on the wharf we used to love? I miss you. I miss _us_, and our family. Anyway, call me, E."

I'm frozen beneath him, and I can feel Eric go soft before we even get the chance to start.

"Fucking _bitch_." I know he's not talking to me, and he pants the words more than he exclaims them, but this is so awkward now, the words have an even bigger impact on what I'm feeling.

"Um, maybe you should call her, I mean, I'll call a taxi or something, it sounds like she needs—"

"_Hell_ no. I stopped caring about anything that woman needs unless it's regarding my daughter. She lost that privilege. I have no idea who she thinks she is to call _me_, of all people, to think that I give a _shit_ about how her and that son-of-a-bitch brother of mine are doing. _They_ ruined our family, not me. Damn her!"

All right, now he's pissed. "Okay, Eric, seriously, I'll call a cab, or have Amelia come get me. It's not a big deal."

He raises his voice. "It's a _huge_ deal!" And I know he's not mad at me, but I take it personally. I'm naked, but I'd feel vulnerable fully clothed. Things were going so damn good, I should have known better.

I maneuver out from under him, and roll out of the bed, about to make a beeline for my clothes, which were still on the living room floor.

"Sookie, wait. Please stay." His voice is softer. "I'm sorry, this isn't how I thought this night would turn out."

"I just don't want to get in the way of anything regarding the mother of your daughter. God knows I'd do anything to have Alcide back."

I realize what I've said, and look up at Eric. His face has a new pain on it now, one that I'm not sure is because he feels bad for what I've gone through or sad because he's not Alcide.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I have to go." He lets me, and I leave him with his head hanging in a position I can only describe as defeat.

It breaks my heart. But I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to fix myself. I have no right being with any man if I'll always compare him to my son's dead father.

**oOOo**

It's been four days since the most amazing date of my life turned disastrous. I've just put Patrick down for the night when my cell rings. It's Eric.

"Sookie," he says when I answer. I can tell that he's been crying…or very nearly.

"Hi, Eric."

"I need to see you. Please. Tonight."

My heart is in my throat. He's all I've thought about since the night I left his house. How amazing it was until that damn phone call. The way it ended. The possibility that I wouldn't have another chance. The thought of him reuniting with his cheating ex-wife. Never getting to meet his sweet little girl. Never having the chance to find happiness with a man I barely know, yet sincerely feel might be the one to heal my heart…if I'd only give him the chance. But I'm reluctant. I don't know how to do this. I have no clue how not to fuck it all up.

"Tonight? Eric, I don't know…it's late, I just put Patrick to bed."

"Can I come over? I just…_shit._" He mutters the last word under his breath. "I don't know how to do this, Sookie."

Is it possible he's as confused as I am? More so?

"Do what, exactly?"

"I want you to know that there's no chance, absolutely not a _single_ chance that I will ever get back together with my ex. But I also need you to know that I harbor a lot of resentment, and feelings toward her, and _him_, and I know it's something I need to work on. And I know I might have scared you the other night when you saw some of that anger and…I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay, Eric. You have every right to feel the way you do. What they did to you, I can't imagine what you went through."

This is where I lay it all out. This is my chance. But the phone sucks for moments like this.

"Okay. Come over."

"Yeah? You sure?"

_Positive_. "Yeah. I'm sure."

When I hang up, I stare at the phone for a good five minutes. The things I've felt with Eric…I want to feel them again, but a million thoughts are running through my head. Can we do it quietly, with my son in the next room? Will I even remember _how_ to do it? It's not like I have a lot of experience as it is. These are things I didn't have time to consider the other night, when uninhibited lust had taken over.

When I let Eric in half an hour later, I'm overcome with an odd feeling of relief. Like I've just been given another chance.

I'm not going to waste it.

"Hi," I say. We're standing in front of the closed door just inside my small apartment.

"Hi,." He responds. And we're staring, and it's like something out of a cheesy romantic movie, but this is really happening. We're really standing in front of each other again after an awkward date, and all I want to do is touch him. Be touched by _him_. More. _So_ much more.

I take a step forward so that I'm standing right in front of him. I can smell him, and it's an intoxicating scent.

"Sookie—" he starts to say, but I shake my head, silently telling him words aren't necessary right now.

I grab his hand, and lead him to my bedroom, peeking my head in on Patrick on the way. He's sound asleep, and instead of looking at him and thinking about Alcide, and our future without him, I'm excited by the possibility of our future with Eric.

I lead him to my bed, where I sit at the edge, so that he's standing in front of me. He's looking at me, like he hasn't seen me before, like he's a little shocked that this is happening so quickly, that I've led him into this private room of mine.

I begin unbuttoning his shirt. He's wearing flannel, and his blonde hair is hanging loosely in his face. He looks like a throwback from the 90's, and I love the look. But right now, I want to see him naked. Like he saw me.

When I'm down to the last button and pull the sleeves from his arms, he's wearing only a thin, white undershirt. I lift it from the bottom, and when I've gotten it over his head, and thrown on the floor, his chest nearly strangles me with its beauty. I knew his body would be gorgeous, but actually seeing his bare flesh, is more than I imagined. I lean forward, and place a light kiss above his navel. He shivers, and puts a hand on the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair. I look up to see heated, blue eyes staring down at me. I can see he's greedy with lust, and I'm sure it's taking everything he has to not throw me down on the bed and fuck me. But he seems to realize this is my show for the moment.

I smile, and start undoing his jeans, slowly. My eyes don't leave his until I have them open, and begin dragging his red briefs down his legs, along with his jeans. I almost stop, my breath catching, because what I'm looking at is damn intimidating for someone with my experience. Hell, it would be intimidating for _anyone_.

I look up at him once more, his ghost of a smile matches my own, and I lean forward, taking just the tip of him into my mouth. He's already hard when I begin to circle my tongue over the head, but he swells impossibly larger, as I sink him inside of me entirely.

"_Fuck_, Sookie…"

I glance up again, his eyes have fluttered nearly shut, but I still see blue. And I know he's watching my mouth as I begin to suck. He bucks his hips, and I'm surprised by the moan I let out. Like it's him pleasuring _me_. But he is pleasuring me, isn't he? And it's so hot, this power we both have over each other. I'm humming against him inside my mouth, I can feel myself getting damp, and I'm wondering if I'm going to go over the edge with him any moment. But when I can tell he's almost there, he pulls away.

"What's wrong?" I ask, breathless.

"_Christ_, absolutely nothing. But I want to be inside of you when I come. I have to be inside of you."

_God yes!_ "Okay. Yeah…Okay."

I'm almost stuttering, because I'm nervous, and so damn on fire with need, but I'm also a little scared. It's been so long. I can barely remember the name of the man I last let take me to bed. He wasn't noteworthy. He wasn't Eric.

"Come here," he says, still standing in front of me, as he kicks off his jeans and shoes.

I rise from the foot of the bed, and he quickly lifts my shirt off, and then unfastens my bra.

"You have the most amazing breasts," he says, as he bends to one of them, taking a nipple into his mouth, and sucking. _God_ it feels amazing. I need more, and as if he's heard my thoughts, he unfastens my jeans, until they're wrapped around my ankles, and I have to step out of them.

"Lay down." His voice is raspy with want, and it sends chills down my spine in the best way.

When I've done as he asks, he rests his knees on the bed, and peels my panties off. We're both completely naked now, no clothes to hide behind.

"_Damn_. You're..." He shakes his head before looking at me again, and then bends over me to kiss his way from my neck down to my belly and back up to my mouth. "I want you, Sookie."

"Then what are you waiting for?" I smile against his mouth.

"Protection. Hang on." He gets off the bed, and digs into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a condom, and looks at me, guiltily. "I swear I wasn't planning to come over here to have sex with you…I just…" He scrubs a hand through his hair, now looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Eric." I say, and he snaps his eyes back to mine.

"I would have been royally pissed if you _didn't_ bring one and we had to stop before we started. I haven't needed them in a while."

He smiles, and laughs. "Good to know."

He gets back on the bed, and takes my mouth in a hard kiss.

I feel him wedge the foil packet into my hand. "Put it on me."

When I've rolled it on, he crawls on top of me, and I feel the heat of his cock rest against my opening.

"Eric…just a second."

"Yeah?"

I lick my lips. "Go slow."

"Okay." He reaches between us, and I feel the tip of him slide in. It's not as if I'm virginal tight, my sex toys see plenty of action, but none of them are this large. I tense, instinctively.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just…just, slow…"

He slides in a few more inches, so incredibly slow, and I try not to clench. He stops, looking at me.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, maybe…" I might regret it for a moment, but the torturous suspense is killing me. "Just do it."

The words are barely out of my mouth, and he's seated all the way inside of me. _Fuck, _it hurts. But once the tinge of pain ebbs, he pulls almost all the way out, and starts the process all over again. And after a few more deep strokes, I'm beginning to remember why everyone says sex is so great.

"Yes, Eric… It's good…

"Yeah?"

"_Really_ good."

He smiles, almost proudly, and brings his mouth to mine again. We begin to fall into a steady rhythm that seems to come with ease, like our bodies know each other already. Like they were _made_ for each other. And I'm baffled as to why I waited so long to try this again. Especially with _him_.

"Fuck, Sookie. I don't think I can last."

"I'm close, too." And that shocks me, because I generally have to work harder than this for my orgasms. "I want to come with you."

"I want that too," he says, and kisses me again, until I'm moaning into his mouth. "_God_, I want that."

I can feel the first flutter of my release start deep inside my belly. "That's it…that's…."

We're both panting, and his breath is hot on my neck, as he pumps harder and faster. Our skin makes loud slapping noises and I pray they aren't heard outside of this room. I want to scream for joy when it happens. I want to cry Eric's name in praise for how good he makes me feel. But in an effort to keep from waking my son, I bite Eric's shoulder instead. It's not enough to break the skin, but more than enough to muffle my sounds.

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck_!" he mutters into my neck. He tries not to yell it, and I realize that biting him so hard might not have been the best idea. But it couldn't be helped.

His body goes rigid, as he wraps his arms around me tighter. Then I feel him let go as he empties himself inside of me, the thin barrier of the condom, barely feels like it's there, and I wonder briefly what our child might look like, and if I'll ever get the chance to know.

_One thing at a time, Sookie. One thing at a time._

I wake up hours later to feel a warm body in bed beside me; a strong arm snaked around my stomach. I've never spent an entire night with any man, not even Alcide. It feels good to look at the clock on my nightstand and see that the sun will rise in less than an hour, and I'm still in his arms. It feels _right_. And it's weird, but there's a sense of balance. A relief of sorts. What I do remember about the last man I slept with was the unnecessary guilt I felt afterward. It's not an issue now.

I look at Eric as my eyes adjust to the dark, and all I feel is warmth. And happiness.

He stirs beside me, but it's still too dark to see if he's awake or not. When I feel a hand snake up my side, and come to rest on my breast, I'm not sure if he's doing it in his sleep, or if he's silently telling me he's ready for more.

And nothing has ever felt this right.

**Three years later**

"Give it back!" I'm cleaning up the mess from lunch when I hear Patrick yelling, and head into the living room to see what's wrong now. "She won't give it back to me, and it's mine!"

"But he won't let me play with it!"

Abby is _pissed_.

She's a ball of fire when she's mad, and Patrick seems to know how to bring it out of her like no other. Then again, I've never seen two children their age, laugh, play, and create happy chaos like Patrick and Abby do when they're together.

_Most_ of the time.

Easily settled. "I'll take it, Abby."

She begrudgingly hands over the subject at the heart of the fight. One of a pair of walkie-talkies we got them for Christmas last year.

"Where's the other one?" I'm answered with silence. "Well?"

They both point to Eric's fish tank, the one he chose to keep outside of his office so the children could always see it. _Or throw things into it_.

I walk to the tank for a closer look, and see the other walkie-talkie wedged between the scuba diver statue, and some pink coral reef. As annoyed as I am, I can't be mad. I take a deep breath and an image of me and Jason as kids crosses my mind. Our parents yelling at us for something similar, only I think it involved a Barbie, one of Jason's G.I. Joe's, and our pet dog's water dish.

Shaking my head, I reach into the tank, and pull out what I assume is a now ruined walkie-talkie. They both look equally guilty, and neither points the blame at the other. We learned real fast that they're vehemently loyal to one another in that way.

"I don't want to see anything in that fish tank that doesn't belong there. Understood?"

They both nod.

"Good. Now go find something to do that you won't fight about."

I reach down to rub my incredibly pregnant belly, as they run off, and I'm left with a satisfied smile on my face.

I'm scrubbing a pot in the kitchen about twenty minutes later when I feel it.

When I was pregnant with Patrick, I had been in an entirely different situation. An entirely different _person_. I had been so incredibly young, with parents who resented my situation, and grieving the man that wasn't there to help me through the scariest time of my life.

So much is different today.

When my water breaks now, I'm standing in the kitchen of a beautiful home I share with my amazing husband. The husband who worships me. And I'm smiling.

I gasp a little as I peer down over my bulge to see the mess I'm now standing in.

"Okay. Get Eric," I mutter to myself.

I calmly walk to the back door, where I see him raking up a pile of leaves. It's mid fall, and our half-acre backyard is a canvas of reds, oranges and yellows.

"Honey," I say, but he clearly doesn't hear me. "_Er_ic!"

That time he heard me.

"Baby, you okay?" he asks, dropping the rake, and wiping sweat from his forehead.

"It's time." I say, smiling, and pointing to my giant belly.

**oOOo**

"Sookie, sweetie."

I'm brought out of a groggy, badly needed sleep, by the sound of Eric's voice. When I open my eyes, I immediately seek her out. Our new daughter, Emily. Eric's sitting on the edge of the bed and she's fast asleep in his arms, so small, I can barely see her under the pink blanket she's swaddled in.

"Hey," I say, with a yawn. My labor was easy this time compared to when I had Patrick. Emily was out in less than eight hours. I don't feel any more rested, however. "What time is it?"

"Almost two in the morning." He smiles, and it warms my heart. "They were just going to wake you in a few minutes anyway, so I thought I'd do the honor instead."

He gets up, and sits back down on the edge of the bed closer to my head, and hands her to me. "I do believe this one's missing her mommy."

"Did she tell you that?" I ask, smiling, as I adjust her in my arms.

"She didn't need to," he says, placing a gentle kiss first on my forehead, and then on hers. "I can already tell she thinks like her daddy. "

**oOOo**

They say mom's are always right. Mine was. But I guess needed to figure it out myself. Wounds don't close overnight, and broken hearts can take years to heal.

Sometimes they never do.

But they won't have the chance if you don't let them. Eric showed me that.

I guess my mother did too.

* * *

**Well, what did you think of my first all human Southern Vampire story? I'd love to hear your thoughts! **

**Thanks for reading, and don't forget read the other entries in the New Chapter contest! **


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone! This is just a thank you to you all for reading, reviewing, and voting for my story, Healing Heart, which was an entry in the A New Chapter contest. The winners have been announced, and Healing Heart won First Place in the public vote!

I was driving home in sucky commute traffic last night when I broke California law by picking up my blinking BlackBerry and opening my congratulatory message. Of course, then I pulled immediately into the nearest parking lot where I proceeded to read the message several times to be sure it was real, texted several people, and then SQUEE'd like a little girl.

So again, thank you all for your support. It's definitely going to encourage me to work on the multi-chapter continuation of this story, which I've already written several chapters for, which I will either continue as "chapter 3" here, or start as a new story. Haven't figured that out yet.

As part of my prize, I had this amazing banner made for my fic! I've NEVER had a banner made for any of my stories, so this is great! I'm not sure who made the banner, but I'd like to thank that person from the bottom of my heart! I will also put a link on my profile page.

**http:/1 (dot) bp (dot) blogspot (dot) com/_2DffsB8k-KY/TR3LcGSEusI/AAAAAAAAAeA/nLFPTPnFC0s/s1600/healing+heart (dot) jpg**

I'd also like to thank the hosts of the contest, the judges, and the Beta's. This was the first contest I've ever entered for FFn, and you made it fun!

There were some really great stories in the contest, and I encourage you all to read and review them. Reviews are like crack to authors, and newbies especially, as a handful of the entrants were, could always use the support.

**To see all the other entries please visit the C2:** **http:/ www (dot) fanfiction(dot) net/ community/ A_New_Chapter_Contest/84745/**


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